


Laughingstock

by sleep



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Egg Laying, Other, Oviposition, Public Humiliation, Tentacle Rape, Tentacle Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-27
Updated: 2015-04-17
Packaged: 2018-03-19 21:05:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3624240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleep/pseuds/sleep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ultra Magnus goes off to investigate a mysterious room, and is in for a big surprise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Contains: Tentacle sex, noncon/dubcon. (The egg laying, and (most of) the public humiliation, is in the _second_ chapter.)  
>  ~~Deleted scene from the MTMTE 2012 annual.~~ Time-wise set right after the nanocon-incident in the MTMTE 2012 annual.  
>  I needed a break from writing the other things I write.  
> Disclaimer (because this deserves it): I am only responsible for my own stupidity.  
> Enjoy!

This was the most humiliating day of his life. Ridiculed, unrespected, a straight-up  _laughingstock_ . Information about how Ratchet had managed to rid him of his Nanocon-infestation had spread like wildfire through the Lost Light, and there was nowhere left for him to be among the crew without being reminded of it. When he was told to go check out a suspicious room – it was sealed off, and had some strange readings on the ship's scanners – in a remote part of the ship, it was a true blessing. And as the amount of mechs in the corridors – he tried to avoid letting their inevitable comments affect him – slowly tapered off until he was the only one around, he finally managed to calm down a little.  
  
This was fine. He was completely alone in this section of the ship, and was about to do a task he had been assigned. This, he could relate to. He would open the door, check what was in there, write a report, and go on with his day. Maybe he would stay in this part of the ship a little longer – unless he was needed elsewhere, of course – and just be alone for a while. It was not like he could do any good elsewhere, really, when all he was to the others at the moment was a laughing stock.  
  
The seal was old and rusted, so he had no problem breaking it off and opening the door. He patted the wall for a light switch, eventually finding one. The lights flickered on after a slight delay. He looked around; a few boxes in a corner, a layer of dust, but nothing in particular out of the ordinary, considering he was in a long abandoned room. He took a walk through the room – the boxes contained a few datapads and some scientific instruments, test tubes and the like – but found nothing more of interest. There was nothing remarkable about the room, and he had no idea why it would be sealed off, or why it was showing strange readings on the ship's scanners.  
  
Just as he was about to leave the room and find a spot to write a report on his – rather unremarkable –findings, his world was turned upside-down. Or, rather,  _he_ was turned upside down, while the world remained in place. After a few moments of disorientation, he just about managed to steady himself enough to take a look at what had caused him to end up dangling upside down, though he was still too unsteady – he was swinging back and forth – to trust himself to not accidentally harm himself if he tried to shoot himself loose.  
  
His leg was caught by some kind of tendril. But what was more important, was what that tendril was attached to; it appeared to be some kind of great organic mass, covering the entirety of the room's ceiling, with tendrils of various sizes slowly coming out of it. Well, he supposed that would explain the strange readings. And while he so far was unharmed, he was unsure if he would remain that way for long, seeing as more of the tendrils were now starting to move. Had his presence somehow awoken the thing? It did not appear to have any form of head, or any other recognizable anatomy for that's sake, so it was possible it was just acting on some instinct instead of actual intelligence.  
  
But before he could ponder any more, he was distracted by several new tendrils that were making their way towards him, snaking around his legs, steadying him. Feeling confident that he now would be able to shoot himself loose without accidentally hitting his legs, he reached for his blaster. But before he could do anything, another tendril snatched it away from him, throwing it to the side. Well, so much for that plan. He could sent a message to someone else and ask them to help him, but he decided that having to be saved from such a ridiculous situation was really  _not_ what he needed after the day he had had.  
  
The ceiling-mass was now apparently completely awake and alert, and it wasted no time in wrapping a thick tendril around his torso, and one around each of his limbs, suspending him horizontally in the air with his back towards the floor. On closer inspection, he realized that the tendrils were more like organic tentacles, but some of the thicker ones had a strange bulbous tip, instead of simply tapering off, as most of the thinner ones did. After trying to move around, he found he was securely held tightly in place and unable to do anything, though none of the tentacles were gripping him uncomfortably tightly.  
  
His wiggling seemed to bring him to the attention of even further tentacles, which now were making their way towards him from the ceiling. At first, only the smaller ones spread around his plating. But instead of settling in one place and holding him like the previous ones, they were... Playing with him? They were stroking seams, patting plating, exploring every inch of him, visiting every notch in his armour. It was not unpleasant, and just as he was about to get used to the crawling, one of the tentacles stroked the seams around his panels.  
  
Ultra Magnus  _moaned_ . It was involuntary, and if anyone had heard it he probably would have died of shame, but it was still an undeniable moan. A couple other tentacles joined the initial one in stroking the seams of his panel, making it heat up. A thin, thin, tentacle made its way down from the mass on the ceiling, headed for the particular piece of plating that was covering his valve, and  _crept under it_ . It was not supposed to be possible. When your panels were closed, they were supposed to be  _closed_ . But no amount of knowledge regarding the impossibility of the events currently happening could distract him from the fact that they were indeed very much happening.  
  
The slim tentacle was tentatively exploring under the panel, and after only a few nano-kliks, the panel snapped open, with the other panel following suit mere moments after. The mass of tentacles surrounding his crotch – there were many more of them than he had thought, presumably having amassed while he was distracted – were now all eagerly going on to explore his exposed interfacing equipment.  
  
He tried to struggle, but the tentacles holding him in place were much stronger that he would have thought, and he found himself held completely revealed and helpless at the mercy of the tentacles surrounding him. Several tentacles wound their way around his spike, and started moving up and down in an intricate pattern, slowly pumping it. Another few tentacles were exploring his valve rim, gently coaxing it to relax, its walls starting to secrete lubricant. One tentacle made its way to his nub, gently squeezing and massaging it. His intakes were getting more rapid and shallow, and his cooling fans kicked into gear.  
  
A few kliks passed with the tentacles skilfully building up his charge, and he was almost starting to relax and accept their pleasurable – though uninvited – ministrations, when the tentacles that had been working around his valve entrance suddenly disappeared, and before he had time to register what was going on, a somewhat larger tentacle slid inside him, making him gasp in pleasure.  
  
His overload was unexpected, and not very long-lasting. The tentacles surrounding his spike pumped harder, and a gush of transfluid rained down on his abdomen. It was sticky and gross, but he found no time to focus on it, since the tentacle inside his valve was moving, urged on by the new gush of lubricants from his overload. It went slowly through his valve, but he soon realized that it had ridges, and texture, and it felt wonderful sliding against the walls of his valve. It fit snugly and was only stretching him a bit, and after another few nano-kliks of the tentacle pulsing in and out of his valve, a couple of the smaller tentacles that previously had played with his valve opening made their way back to his valve, entering it and stretching its walls, moving at different speeds besides the larger one. His cooling fans stepped up another few notches, and he overloaded again, dripping transfluid down his thighs and onto the floor.  
  
–  
  
It was a long time since he had interfaced. He rarely if ever bothered self-servicing – sure, he could, and it did pleasure him, so it was not like he never did it, but he always had important things that needed his attention and presence, and he virtually never felt an  _urgent need_ to do it anyway, so he found he often went for long periods of time just not doing it – and he was rarely among other mechs for long enough to form a proper relationship, and if he was, it usually meant that they were in the middle of a battlefield, which hardly was a good place to engage in such intimate activities. It had always been like that, and for some reason or another, he had now went a very long time without interfacing.  
  
Which was probably why his frame was running so hot, why his valve felt stuffed already, and why he had overloaded so many times already. That was what he was telling himself, at least. There were now two of the medium-sized tentacles moving around in his valve, intertwined and surrounded with thinner tentacles – many more than in the beginning – twisting and turning inside him, causing him to moan in pleasure. After five overloads, the tentacles pumping his spike had let go, and a new, bigger tentacle had replaced them. It was one of the ones with a bulbous end, and the bulb had surrounded his spike, swallowing it – it had freaked him out at first, but it felt good, and nothing seemed wrong – before again starting to pump him. After that, the tentacle had milked him of all his overloads, swallowing his transfluid while causing him pleasure.  
  
Speaking of pleasure, the tentacle on his spike and the tentacles in his valve made a particularly synchronized maneuver, and he found himself gasping for cooler air as yet another overload shook through his body. He leaned his head back, breathing gulps of air in, and seemingly out of nowhere, there was a tentacle straight in front of his face. He stared at it. It was pointing its bulbous end directly at him. He was still venting hard, with his mouth wide open, so the tentacle met no resistance when it quickly made its way into his mouth. It made its way deep, deep into his throat, making him feel a nauseated need to retch, before starting to move in and out of his mouth in a steady rhythm, coating his mouth and tongue in a strange lubricant secreted from the bulb. He felt like he was about to choke, but it was also strangely  _nice_ – a thought he never would have thought that he would have – to have the slick tentacle gliding in and out of his throat.  
  
Then, after so long of being constantly filled, his body protested – he tried to protest too, but the tentacle down his throat made it difficult to voice his displeasure – to the sudden removal of the tentacles in his valve. Onlining his optics again – he was not even aware that he had offlined them in the first place – he tried to look down his body to see what was going on. The mass of tentacles that had just left him had dispersed, dripping sticky transfluit all over the floor, and only the two bigger tentacles were left – not even the one that faithfully had been rubbing his nub had remained – and they were currently holding onto the sides of his outer rim, spreading him open, making him feel even more empty and exposed. The tentacles holding him in place shifted, and he suddenly found himself with his legs raised and spread further apart, making the slow trickle of his own lubricants – which had been dripping out of his valve and onto the floor – stop, leaving the rest of them inside him.  
  
Nothing happened. Nothing only happened for about ten nano-kliks, but it felt like an eternity. And then, the mass on the ceiling shifted a bit, revealing another tentacle that was descending towards him. It was not like the other tentacles. It was much, much thicker, and its bulbous end looked somehow different, and even wider than the stem. It was lowering, and he realized –  _knew_ – what was about to happen: That  _thing_ , which was  _at least_ as thick as his forearm, was going to  _enter him_ . He was not prepared. He knew that he had been stretched thoroughly for a long time – over a cycle according to his chronometer – and the walls of his valve were still diligently coating it with lubricants, but that thing was bigger than anything he ever had imagined was possible for him to accept.  
  
He tried to protest – which still very difficult with a tentacle down his throat – but the tentacles could hardly care less. He was held up to the tentacle – presented to it – and the medium tentacles keeping him open stretched his valve-opening even further, making it almost painful. The big tentacle reached his level. First, its 'head' made its way inside his valve, penetrating his outer rim – his lips were stretched so much it hurt – slowly but certainly stretching him even further. After it, the rest of the tentacle followed, slimmer and easily making its way after the enormous head, and the smaller tentacles let go of his valve brim. The head kept going until it had nowhere left to go, his valve filled to the brim, feeling stuffed and stretched like never before. He was panting exhaustedly around the tentacle in his mouth – which  _still_ was going in and out at a steady pace – but he only got a few nano-kliks to adjust to the incredible load inside of him, before it started moving again.  
  
It moved slowly out of him until only the head remained inside, and then it slammed all the way back in again, rubbing against his nub as it moved. He screamed around the tentacle. It was all too much, too fast, he thought he might break! But it was also  _so good_ , and as it repeated the process, he moaned through it, pain and pleasure combining, feeling exhilarated and stuffed to the brim, the ruthless pace bringing him a new overload, and then another soon after, his own transfluid filling him up even more, with no place to escape as his valve entrance was blocked by the enormous tentacle slamming in and out of him.  
  
The tentacle kept going for a full quarter of a cycle, and when it finally slowed down – several overloads later – he hang limp from his tentacle-harness, with no power left in him to move. The tentacle slowed to a halt, its head still far into him, settling there. It was rather uncomfortable when it was just resting inside him, but fortunately, there soon was movement. The tentacle remained at its position inside him, but it felt like the tentacle itself was stretching wider, as if it was filling up with something.  
  
Someone sent him a message. He opened it – the tentacle was still expanding, and he thought he might break at any point now, unless that already had happened and he just was too blissed out to have noticed it – and read it. “We haven't heard from you in a few cycles, what's going on?” He tried to send a reply back – the swollen mass inside the tentacle was moving through it, nearing its head, shifting where it was expanding his valve the most – but the letters got mixed, and the message he sent was just a confused mess, making little sense. He felt the tentacle's head expand, then open up, and he felt a stream of big, hard masses mixed with goop move from the head, and into his valve. The head moved slowly outwards, bit by bit as soon as there no longer was room for it due to the uncomfortable round objects and sticky liquid it was filling his valve with. After half an eternity of this, the head at last left him, filled to the brim, and still held in an upwards angle, which forced the mess inside him to remain there. He was slowly lowered onto the floor, the sudden shifting of the contents of his valve causing a small overload, which the tentacle on his spike gladly drank up, before it also left him. The tentacle down his throat at last slowed its pace, eventually making its way out of him, stopping in front of his head again, before opening its bulb, releasing more sticky goop into his mouth – it had a strange texture, but tasted sweet – and all over his face. He landed safely on the floor, and the tentacles that had held him in place finally let him go, rising back up to the ceiling with all the other tentacles, where they all intertwined to a stable network.  
  
He was exhausted. He was utterly limp, with no power left in him to move from his position on the floor, staring tiredly up at the mass of tentacles forming the ceiling. Some of the goop in his valve ran out of him and onto the floor, taking with it some of his own now released transfluids, collectedly surrounding him as a slowly enlarging puddle, fed by a constant flow of transfluid and tentacle-goop. He was a mess, sticky fluids covering his face, abdomen, thighs, and especially his interfacing equipment, but he could not really bring himself to care.  
  
He received a new message. “We are on our way.” They knew where he was. He managed to raise his head a little and stare down at the spectacle that he was. Well, he had no energy to do anything about it, and they would be there within a few kliks. He checked his chronometer. He had been trapped in that room for over  _three_ cycles. This was absolutely, without a doubt, and with no contenders, the most humiliating day in his entire life. 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Avoiding the medic after a tentacle-monster-incident may not be a good idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to Witch08, who wanted a follow-up with Magnus pregnant. I hope this is to your satisfaction.  
> Deca-cycle: 3 weeks.  
> No real tentacle-action in this chapter, but some oviposition and public humiliation.  
> I hope you all enjoy it!

Ultra Magnus could hear footsteps approaching. With a strenuous effort, he managed to close his panels. He knew it would not make his situation less humiliating or indecent, but he could really live without the added indignity of having his interfacing equipment bared for the world to see in front of the crew.  
  
–  
  
He was easily rescued from the room – the tentacle-creature was sated at the moment – and his rescue party was sworn to secrecy about everything that had transpired in that room that day. He was given a couple rags and removed most of the transfluid and stick tentacle-fluid from his armour, before he was helped to his room. He refused to go visit the medbay, as he just was a bit queasy – and spent, after so many overloads, and having so many tentacles inside him – so unless Ratchet _had_ to know anything, he would like to avoid any situation that involved anyone else hearing about the day's incident.  
  
He was deposited outside his room, and locked the door behind him. He made his way to his private washrack, sitting down on the bench he had installed. He picked up the showerhead, and started spraying himself with solvent. He meticulously cleaned his sullied plating, until there was no trace of the debasing activities his body had been a part of earlier that day. He hesitated for a moment, before deciding that yes, he really _did_ have to clean himself down _there_ too, and opened his panels.  
  
He started with his spike – still sticky – and hastily but thoroughly cleaned it. He then went on to his valve. Sticky goop was running slowly out of it, following gravity's orders. It was not draining quickly enough for him, though. He aimed the showerhead at his valve, and began flushing it. It was uncomfortable, but he kept it up until there was nothing but clear, watery solvent coming out of his valve.  
  
Good. He was clean, and rid of all traces of the tentacle-creature. He could finally put the whole event behind him. He got out of the washrack, dried himself off, and walked slowly over to his berth, where he instantly collapsed. He still felt queasy and exhausted, but he would probably feel better after resting. He fell into recharge within a few kliks.  
  
–  
  
As expected, he felt better when he woke up the next morning. His valve was pricking here and there, but he felt okay. He drank a cube, and left to do his morning duties. A few mechs mentioned the smiling-incident, but no one mentioned the... _Other_ incident. Good. The few mechs who _knew_ avoided making optic-contact, but it otherwise seemed like they had kept quiet about it. Perhaps there still was a chance of him getting his dignity back!  
  
–  
  
He considered visiting the medbay. A few days had passed since the incident, yet he still felt queasy when he did quick movements, and his abdomen – more precisely _his valve –_ felt a bit sore. He gently massaged his midsection, trying to make the ache go away. It felt like something was attached to the walls of his valve, stretching it. If he did not know better, he would say that something was growing inside him. But that was a preposterous proposition, and anyway, he was sure he would be fine soon. He would feel better in a day or so. There was no reason to bring Ratchet into this incident too.  
  
–  
  
He felt dizzy. Sitting up in the morning was usually not a problem, but he felt dizzy doing it this morning. His abdomen was visibly distended, and he felt a strange kind of fullness in his valve. He nonetheless forced himself out of berth and on to his duty. He had no time to be unwell.  
  
–  
  
About half a deca-cycle had passed since the incident. Comments about the smiling-incident were slowly tapering off, and hardly anyone knew about the _other_ incident. He had gotten a few rude comments about him “eating well lately” despite not eating any more than usual – in fact, he had for some strange reason felt too full, or unwell, to eat his regular meals at times – but not even he could deny that his midsection was unflatteringly inflated. He felt heavy, full, and tired all the time. And his valve felt odd, almost alien, and it felt like it was stretched to an unusual degree. There was no reason for why that would actually be the case, though.  
  
–  
  
Another few days passed before there was a significant change in his situation. and it just so happened to come at the worst of all places: The bridge. And with far too many people around him than he cared to think about.  
  
He was in the middle of listening to another Rodimus-speech, when suddenly, his legs gave way under him. He heard a loud thump as he ungracefully fell backwards and hit the floor, all eyes now on his large frame instead of on Rodimus. He was offered a hand, but as he sat up to take it, he felt a cramp from around his abdomen. He crouched forwards, and held onto his swollen midsection.  
  
He felt movement. He was not sure what it was, but it was making his abdomen shift. After a moment he realized that the feeling came from inside his valve, where it felt something detach from his walls. He had no time to think about what was going on, as he felt it rapidly slid down his valve, making its way to his panel. He stared frantically around him. People were staring. Whatever was happening, it should not be happening _here_.  
  
He tried to get up again, but was stopped by a sudden shift inside his valve. More things were moving away from his walls and down his valve – the motion, the pressing, it all somehow felt _good_ yet so _wrong_ – and it was all starting to build up pressure on his panel, pushing to be released, trying to make him open up. Someone said that they were calling Ratchet, and someone else commented that he looked unwell. He had at some point started panting, and was now gasping for air while trying to keep his panel from opening up.   
  
He needed to get away. He needed to go somewhere private. But he only managed to get himself halfway up from his sitting position before he felt another something inside him release from his walls, joining in on pressing down on his panel, making the pressure almost unbearable, and making him groan. Involuntarily, his panel snapped back. He tried to close it again – a massive amount of sticky fluids was released onto the floor, forming a pile under him – to keep the shapes inside him from escaping with so many onlookers, but he soon realized that there was no use fighting it, as the first object started making its way out of him.  
  
He could not help letting a moan escape him, as the object stretched the lips of his valve, barely making its way past them, before he felt it falling down, safely landing in the pile of sticky matter. The roundish object moved a little, before something broke its way out of it. A small tentacle-creature appeared, moving slightly around in this unfamiliar universe that was very different from its previous existence. Ultra Magnus stared at it in horror.  
  
But he had no time to focus on it, and his valve-opening only got to rest for a moment before another object made its way towards it, stretching him wide again. It, too, and fall down on the sticky floor, and hatched. Another followed after it, then another, and yet another. He felt his valve slowly release the eggs, one at a time, giving him a steady rhythm of stretching and pushing. It was actually rather... Pleasurable. He found himself gasping and moaning as the eggs moved down his valve, no longer aware of the dozens of mesmerized optics that were staring at him.  
  
He lost himself in the stretching and pleasure, before an especially big egg started moving through his valve, extending it more than any of the other eggs had. It met his valve-opening, and tried to escape, the massive egg pulling vigorously at his opening for him to give way for it. But several kliks went by, and while his opening was stretched as far as it managed, it was not still not wide enough. Tthe stretching soon became almost unbearable, and he awkwardly reached down with his thick fingers to massage his lining and nub, to try to make himself relax even more. He felt an overload roll through him, releasing transfluid in a rush, trapped inside him for a moment before helping the egg on its way, lubing him up and making him whimper as it left him, his valve feeling stretched beyond belief.  
  
He collapsed onto the floor, exhausted, but there were still more eggs to go. He sat back up again, his shaking and panting interspersed with moans and shivers of pleasure, as yet more eggs made their way out of him.  
  
Ratchet only reached the scene as the last egg was released with a soft popping sound, and his valve finally was free for eggs. Another small overload rippled through him as his valve slowly started relaxing. The small tentacle-creatures flocked around his valve-opening, seeking the transfluid that was seeping out of him.  
  
He was only vaguely aware of Ratchet asking him rapid – partly worried and partly scolding – questions, but he had no energy left to answer any of them. He slowly became aware of all the optics on him, and the puddle underneath him. He collapsed back down on the floor, with small tentacle-creatures surrounding his valve – slowly going back to its usual shape after being packed full of eggs for so long – and far too many crew-members staring at him in disbelief, and passed out of exhaustion.  
  
Perhaps it was just as well that he did not hear anything that was said about him after that. 

 


End file.
